


Let Your Guard Down

by Elementhyde



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Charthur, Ficlet, Gen, One Shot, Tumblr Prompt, hurt!Arthur, two grumpy hardasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-10 23:01:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20143420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elementhyde/pseuds/Elementhyde
Summary: Arthur finds himself on the wrong side of an ambush. Charles helps clean him up





	Let Your Guard Down

The blood dripped from his brow, stinging his eyes. He pulled his sleeve across his face sending a surge of pain through his ribs. He groans softly and pulled himself up into the saddle. Dutch’s words ringing in his mind, “ _ Don’t draw unnecessary attention, lay low.”  _ All he wanted to do was play some cards while he waited for John. He groaned, it hurt to breathe, he definitely had some broken ribs.

“Let’s go girl” He muttered. His throat was on fire, the bruises already blooming around his throat from where they had tried to choke him. 

The ride back to camp was excruciating, He had been careless, won a bit too much at the table and figured the men that followed him out behind the saloon had been just a couple of guys looking to make a quick buck.

It had been a set up to get him alone, God damn O’Driscolls had near 15 men waiting for him. He barely had time to react as the stock of the rifle met the back of his head. The flash of white hot pain as he hit the ground. He got his arms under him and slowly began to push his way up, the boot cracking the first three ribs as it impacted. 

Arthur wheezed as he hit the ground, his side screaming out in pain. He clenched his teeth, biting back a cry of pain, the grit from the mud crunching between his teeth. He rolled over, pushing himself to his feet, a hand roughly grabbing his collar pulling him forward as a fist caught him in the stomach. He coughed out the remaining air in his lungs. Gasping a breath he roared out throwing a wild uppercut, his fist connecting with the jaw of the man still grasping his collar.

“So, this is Dutch’s boy. The infamous Arthur Morgan?” Another fist slammed into his jaw. He swung wide toward the voice. He stumbled back, squaring off his feet. Finally taking in his enemies. The men surrounded him, he spit the crimson streaking from his mouth. Wiping the dribble onto his arm he raised his fists defensively. 

“O’Driscoll boys!” The red stained his teeth as a smile grew on his face. He shrugged the first hand off his shoulder, ducking and spinning landing a solid hit to the assaulter’s jaw. The crack makes Arthur’s smile grow more predatory. The man falls to the floor, another taking his place. He feels the hands lock onto his wrist, spinning his arm behind his back. The foot hit the back of his knee dropping his legs out from under him. The gravel biting into his knees. The fist came across his face, he felt the blood drip into his eyebrow.

He pushed himself back, knocking the man behind him off his balance, the pain ripped through his shoulder as his body pressed against this arm. He yanked his arm free, the pain caused him to cry out, scrambling to his feet he used his momentum to tackle the man in front of him.Grabbing him by the hair he slammed his head into the ground. Arthur stumbled to his feet, his one arm hung uselessly at his side. He turned to face the other men, his eyes wild, pulling his gun from his belt he fired dropping the last of the men. He holstered his gun, grabbing onto his arm, holding it tightly to his body. He looked down at the men on the ground, reaching down he pulled a belt off one and fashioned a makeshift sling.Turning out the man’s pockets he pulled a pack of cigarettes out and some change, pocketing both. He placed a cigarette between his lips striking a match against the saloon wall. 

The moon hung low in the sky as he left town, his head swimming in the pain as the adrenaline wore off. He leaned heavily against the mare’s back, the smell filling his nostrils, he drifted in and out of consciousness.

Charles stood among the trees near the outskirts of camp, his gun held loosely at his side, the still of the early morning air calming. No one had passed by the camp in hours, not surprising given the hour, but even the wildlife had been quiet. The crickets surrounding the camp suddenly stopped their song, Charles raised the gun, the trodding of horse hooves becoming audible in the silence.

“Who’s that?” Charles shouted out into the dark, no reply “Identify yourself or I’ll shoot.” Charles raised the barrel toward the sound, a shadow moved. T

he horse snorted through the trees, moving slowly toward Charles, gun still raised. The light filtering through the canopy cast shadows into the trees. A familiar white and brown of the horse’s coat made Charles drop his gun.

“Arthur?!” He moved forward, the horse continuing it’s slow pace toward the camp. Arthur’s form slumped over the horse’s back. “Hey! Wake up, Arthur!” He rushed toward the horse, Arthur groaned, slowly blinding his eyes, the blood and sweat making his eyes sting.

“Charles?” His voice rasped, he pulled himself up in the saddle his ribs screaming in protest.

“What the hell happened?” Charles grabbed the reigns, leading the horse back to the center of camp. Arthur coughed weakly, wincing with each jostle of his arm.

“Got jumped playing cards by those damn O’Driscolls. I’m fine.”

“You look like shit, Arthur. You’re not okay, let me look at you.” Charles said dryly, hitching the horse outside of Arthur’s tent. Arthur swung his leg over the horse, sliding his way down awkwardly. Charles watched him, arms crossed, his expression annoyed. 

Arthur dropped himself onto his cot, his breath shallow. Charles followed him into the tent, he stared down at Arthur, turning and grabbing a rag from his shave kit. He wet the cloth in the nearby shave bucket and returned to Arthur, wiping the dried blood and grit from his face. The cut oozed fresh blood, Charles wiped the fresh blood away and cleaning the wound the best he could. 

“What’s wrong with your arm?” Arthur didn’t respond, his eyes closed tightly, jaw clenched. Charles reached down, gingerly taking his arm in his hands, he put his arm down carefully at his side. He removed the makeshift sling and unbuttoned his vest and shirt. The bruises blooming on his skin told Charles of the degree of the fight. Charles looked over everything, stopping when he reached his shoulder. Deep purple bruising surrounded his shoulder, the bone sitting awkwardly under the skin, Charles looked back to Arthur’s face, his eyes still closed. He grimaced down at him, he had seen this before, his shoulder was dislocated, it needed to be put back in, it was going to hurt.

“Arthur.” He put his hand onto the front of Athur’s shoulder, pushing back his shoulder blade. Arthur shoulder tensed beneath his hand. “I need you to relax, this is going to hurt a bit, but I need to get your shoulder back in.” His other arm grabbed Arthur’s arm at the elbow, pressing it close to his body and rotating it back and out. 

“Charles.” He groaned. 

The shoulder relaxed under Charles’s hand and he slowly removed it, gently grabbing hold of his wrist and guiding the hand toward his chest and up in a quick motion. The shoulder slid back into the socket and Arthur shuddered under him. 

“Shit! You weren’t wrong!” He croaked.

“Still don’t need help?” Charles chided. Arthur wheezed out a laugh, his good arm grabbing onto his side. Now sure he broke more than a couple ribs. 

“I’ll live.” He sat up slowly, placing his arm on Charles’s shoulder. “Thanks though, you’re too good Charles.” Charles shook his head, standing up he moved to pull some bandages from the chest by the foot of the bed.

“And you’re a fool, Arthur. Stay still and let me bandage up that cut.” He leaned over, placing a gentle kiss on the crown of his head


End file.
